Tirn uin Taur
by Elinde
Summary: A 21 year old Aragorn is hurt and offended by one of Elrond's oldest friends. But, as is often the case with this particular Elf, things aren't as they first appear. Will Aragorn and the residents of Imladris realise this before it is too late?
1. Faux ami

**Disclaimer: all recognisable characters and places etc. belong to Professor Tolkien and his estate. No money is being made from this. **

* * *

His horse was spooked by the wind. Every gust that whistled passed his ears made him shy and time and time again Aragorn almost lost his grip on the reins. The wind swaowed in the trees and Cordof shied drastically off to one side. The gathering gloom was becoming yet another hindrance. Aragorn dared to let go the reins for a split second to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

Big mistake.

Sensing the lessening of pressure on the bit, Cordof seized his chance. Aragorn wrapped his other hand around the reins as tightly as he could as his steed reared, then clung on for dear life as Cordof bolted. Fortunately for the young man, his weight on one side quickly slowed the animal and soon he stopped altogether. Aragorn disentangled his hand from the reins, crooning to Cordof all the while. Before mounting again, the man stroked the horse's flank and he felt the tenseness leave the animal's body.

The wind subsided for a short while and Aragorn could have sworn he heard someone, or something, behind him. His head whipped round just in time to see another rider melt into the shadows of the grasslands. His breath quickened; there was no telling whether the rider was friend or foe in this corner of Arda. Aragorn laid his hand against Cordof's side. The animal felt his master's unease and tensed up again too, ears pricked. Both were silent and motionless as the wind redoubled its strength and swept round them, but the other rider seemed to have disappeared.

"Maybe I imagined it," Aragorn said to himself, his voice whipped away by the wind. But he kept looking about him as he mounted and continued on his journey.

The darkness was deepening all the time. Now he could no longer see more than a few feet ahead and even then not very well. He needed to stop before he rode into something or was ambushed. So his attention turned to finding a good enough camp site.

This was easily found; anywhere along the eaves of the forest would do but some spots were more sheltered than others. After he tied Cordof to an overhanging branch he set about making a fire. As he snapped twigs from the beech trees, he thought he heard something, a wicker that hadn't come from Cordof. He looked at his own horse, eyes straining against the gloom. Yes, his ears were turned towards the sound.

Holding the wood in one hand and drawing his sword, Elrond's foster son tuned to face the stranger, "Who are you? I demand to know your name!" But there was no answer, the rider had gone. A terrible creaking and cracking sound reached the pair. A tree had been blown over somewhere in the forest behind them. Aragorn swallowed and decided not to fall asleep that night. He would be tired the next morning but at least he wouldn't be crushed by a falling branch. The yell of sorrow as the other rider heard the sound was covered by the rustle of leaves and whistling of air around the trees.

Aragorn tried and failed to light a fire. Every time his tinder caught light the wind simply blew it out. So he huddled in his blankets in the dark and ate the last apple in his pack. Cordof, upon realising that his master was eating, began to graze on the grass close to where he was lying. When he had finished, the man threw the core to his horse who crunched it up gratefully.

"I'm just sorry I didn't have a whole one to give to you," Aragorn told the steed, but again the wind carried his voice away.

As the night wore on, the winds became icy. Freezing fingers tugged at the blankets and Aragorn's hair. His fingers went numb where they were holding the blankets closed. Eventually, he was forced to seek warmth from Cordof who was sleeping with his muzzle resting on the ground between his knees. Aragon leant against the horse's warm side and smiled contentedly as the warmth made his cheek tingle. Though he had sworn he wouldn't, the man felt his eyelids droop and soon he was fast asleep.

But the other rider wasn't. He was sat on his horse a little way off, his cloak billowing out behind him; his gaze fixed on the vague outline that he knew was of Aragorn and his horse. And he waited.

The wind had abated by the time morning broke and Aragorn was glad; he planned to ride parallel to the eaves of the forest for a good while yet until he drew closer to the lands where the Dúnedain lived in hiding. He was still nervous in their presence; he was supposed to be their leader and yet he knew very little compared to them, even though the residents of Imladris had been subtly informing him of the ways of his exiled people while he was still cared for by Elrond. The thought of going back to them made him jittery.

To calm his nerves, he decided to make himself a good hearty breakfast. But, to his amazement, the pile of twigs he had made the night before had gone. In their place was a mound of ashes. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes but the wood did not return. Who could have burnt it? Even the strange rider he thought he had seen during the storm could not have come without him noticing; he had been woken frequently during the night by the gale. No, strange magic was afoot here. Subconsciously, he looked east towards Dol Guldur.

There was no telling what might happen while one was so close to that dark hill. _Amon Lanc_ it had been called many millennia ago. Aragorn could not believe that Elves had once dwelt there for now it was the powerhouse of a nameless fear called by some the Necromancer. It was from there that all the darkness and despair had poured over the forest of Greenwood, or so Erestor and Legolas said, causing it to be renamed Mirkwood. Its influence was still spreading northwards so that even where the Elves lived now was tainted with darkness. It seemed quite likely that one of Dol Guldur's inhabitants had taken the wood though the reason why he could not guess.

Moaning, Aragorn collected more wood - some green, some dead - and soon had a healthy fire in the ring of stone circles he had found. The sound of bacon fat sizzling and the smell of it cooking scented the air and made his stomach grumble. Cordof looked at it untrustingly before grazing again.

He did not allow himself too long for breakfast for he had wasted enough time already. He wasn't expected but even so he had set himself the target of reaching the main camp in a week's time. Therefore, he was soon on the way again, covering much more ground now that the air was still and quiet.

He allowed his thought to wander. As always, they went back to Imladris. This time Erestor was teaching him how to keep accounts and Glorfindel was pointing out that it would be much more useful if the young boy was taught how to manipulate others. Erestor embarked on a long lecture about making life harder for people for your personal amusement and how immoral it was.

The sound of a snapping twig brought him back into the present. A flash of white in the forest to his right made him look more closely, but nothing else happened. Even so, he couldn't let it be this time. He dismounted and walked cautiously into the forest, gazing about him.

Nothing.

He stopped in a gap in the trees and yelled, "Show yourself! I know you're following me!"

The forest was silent. Not even a mouse scurried across the floor. Not even a bird sang in the trees.

Suddenly, his feet were yanked from under him from behind. As he crashed to the ground, he thought he could hear footsteps speeding away. He cursed but remained where he was. Then he saw boots in front of him. He looked up. An Elf was crouching before him, a deep hood casting his face into shadow. But a few locks of vivid golden hair could be seen resting on the inside of the hood.

"Thank goodness!" Aragorn exclaimed, "Listen, someone's following me-"

"Iston."

The very tip of an archer's dagger was pressing into the top of his throat. He rose slowly, scared, as the weapon was pulled upwards. In moments, both beings were standing. Aragorn swallowed and felt the blade more as he did so.

"It's me, Aragorn!" He whispered. The blade did not move, "_Estel_." Panic laced his tones.

"_Iston_."

"Please help me, someone's following me. They have been for hours and-"

"No dhínen!" Aragorn's mouth snapped shut. "Lasto enni. You are not welcome here!"

"But why-"

"_Sedho_! " The Elf glowered and Aragorn's confusion and fear rose, "Bado, _si_!" His last word cut through the air like a dagger through flesh. The man instantly wished that he had thought of a different analogy as the blade pressed harder against his skin. Then realisation struck him.

"You? You are the rider who's been following me, intimidating me?"

Sapphire eyes flashed.

"Why?"

"You ask that so often," the Elf spat, pressing the dagger tip hard enough against the man's skin to draw blood, "Go to Imladris and never come back here. Is that understood?"

"But I don't live in Imladris any-"

"I care not, now get you gone!"

The pressure on his neck disappeared as did the Elf, but the man knew that the other was waiting for him to leave. He scrambled out of the woods, dazed and confused. The Elf hated him, but why? The prick on his throat started to sting. Aragorn passed his hand over it. It came back covered in blood. The cut was long and reasonably deep; the Elf's dagger must have been razor sharp. Staunching the blood with a corner of his cloak, he ran back to Cordof who whickered with concern. He mounted swiftly and kicked him on, now bearing south west as he made for the Great Pass over the Misty Mountains.

* * *

O.o

Penny for your thoughts. (Probably a lot more nowadays what with inflation and so on... so: Pound for them. ^_^)

**Translations:**

_Iston_ **–** I know

_No dhínen_ **– **Be silent

_Lasto enni_ **– **Listen to me

_Sedho_ **– **Quiet

_Bado, si_ **– **Go, now (might me _Bado hi_... depends if _si_ mutates)


	2. Pas bon!

As Aragorn made his way to Imladris, he realised that he was riding along the storm's path. Large boulders lay in the road as he came down the other side of the mountains and into the most northerly part of Hollin. Here and there, the winds had dislodged a large boulder higher up, creating scree slopes further down. Cordof's footfalls echoed off the rocky landscape and bother were glad when they left the land of holly behind them. The grassy plains showed little sign of the storm but as Aragorn finally rode down into Rivendell he could see many branches on the forest floor and even some uprooted pines. Lower down in the shelter of the rock faces, the forests had been protected from the storm. The deciduous woodland had few leaves on the ground and the narrow, winding path was clear.

Aragorn knew this forest very well and he struck left off the path, heading for an outcrop of rocks over one of the many streams which hurried down the slopes to join the Bruinen. But someone was already there. They sat on the outcrop with a taught canvas on their knees, a paintbrush in hand and a pallet beside them. The Dúnedan smiled, dismounted and ran up behind the Elf.

"Suilad, Erestor!"

Elrond's chief advisor jerked with surprise, "Estel? What are you doing back here so soon?"

"I was ordered to return," Aragorn said, settling himself behind Erestor on the rock, "it would have been foolish to disobey."

Erestor smiled and made more room on the rock. This was when he noticed the cut on Aragorn's throat. By now it was no more than a small scab but the blood that had poured from it still stained his neck and collar brown. The raven haired Elf raised an eyebrow. Aragorn winced. "Who gave you that?"

"It's nothing!"

"Indeed. So it must have been the person who gave it to you that made you come all the way here rather than the wound."

Aragorn gazed at the flowing water beneath them, "How well do you know Thranduil?"

"That depends on how you mean 'know'. We are good friends but I have no idea how his mind works." Erestor answered. Aragorn nodded and something in Erestor's mind clicked, "_He_ wounded you, didn't he?" Aragorn nodded,

"I'm going to tell At- Lord Elrond just now." Crow's feet appeared around Erestor's eyes at Aragorn's slip of the tongue but disappeared swiftly as the man continued to speak.

"I shall come with you," Erestor said and something about his tone told Aragorn that this was not merely a friendly offer. The advisor's face was grave and set and he collected his utensils and followed Aragorn back to Cordof, who whickered when he saw Erestor.

The trio wended their slow way down to the bottom of the valley, across the bridge and eventually into the courtyard at the front of Imladris. News of Aragorn's return had spread like wildfire before them so they found the Peredhil already waiting.

"Estel!" They both yelled, launching themselves at the hapless man. Erestor smiled as Aragorn was tackled to the ground and sat upon by his over excited foster brothers.

"We didn't think you'd ever come back!" Elrohir exaggerated, "What brought you back so soon?"

"That's exactly what Erestor asked."

Elladan pushed his twin off Aragorn and pulled the man to his feet; he had seen the wound, "Who gave you that?"

"The same person who told me to come here."

"And that was?"

"Estel!" Elrond had arrived, "my boy! What brings you here?"

"He's wounded, Atar."

"Wounded?" Elrond asked in shock. Aragorn raised his chin slightly so his foster father could see the scab, "But come, that is nothing!"

Erestor looked troubled, "Tell them who gave it to you."

Aragorn swallowed, nervously.

"Come on, penneth, tell me," Elrond coaxed, anxiously.

Aragorn grimaced, "It was Thranduil," he whispered.

"_What?_" Elrond hissed, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. Glorfindel, who had just returned on Asfaloth from checking the storm damage, looked bemused. Swiftly, Aragorn told all assembled of the night of the storm and the day after. By the end, Elrond was shaking. "First Elros and now you. He means to annihilate the kings of Númenor, my kinsmen. He will pay for this!" He turned on his heel and swept back inside the house. Erestor trotted after him saying,

"Now do you see why I came?" to Aragorn in passing. Aragorn nodded but Erestor had already disappeared.

Glorfindel exhaled heavily, "It's kicking off again." The twins looked just as lost as Aragorn felt, "Elrond blames Eldu for your uncle's death*. I'm surprised he never told you."

"But, they are firm friends!" Elladan exclaimed. Glorfindel raised an eyebrow,

"For as long as you've been in the world. During the time after Elros' death but before the War if the Last Alliance, they were at each other's throats whenever they met. If it hadn't have been for Míriel and Celebrian they may well have been right up until the darkening of Greenwood; after that circumstance would have forced them to be civil."

After that, Glorfindel lead Asfaloth and Cordof away, leaving the younger Elves and man to think about this revelation.

"Let's 'walk and talk'," Elrohir suggested.

The trio ended up back at the overhanging rock where Aragorn had surprised Erestor. If Elladan sat at the very end, all three of them could fit on comfortably. The sun rose in the sky, warming their backs and making the water sparkle prettily.

"I thought I knew them!" Elladan exclaimed and the others nodded before lapsing into silence.

oOo

"Heru-nín!"

Elrond did not stop.

"Heru-nín, I need to talk to you!"

"Naturally! Come to tell me his hand must have slipped? Come to tell me that it was in fact a servant of the enemy masquerading as Thranduil?"

"Lau!"

"Good!

"I'm not saying he didn't threaten Aragorn but what he did might have been the lesser of two evils-"

"So he's killed someone else?"

"No! You're letting your grief for Elros cloud your judgement. You need to step back and regard the problem from a neutral viewpoint-"

"As do you. What's going through your head: ex-scribes should stick together?" Erestor bit his lip, "I've seen you poring over ancient documents. I've heard you chiding the scribe who made it because their margins are too narrow or too wide, or they haven't left enough space between each line, or they've left too much," he stopped and breathed out, "I'm sorry, but this time Thranduil has no excuse."

Erestor stayed where he was and watched as the gap between the two Elves grew, "Well I'm going to find out the truth!" he called before adding to himself, "I'm going to write to Galion."

oOo

"Hini."

"Heru Glorfindel."

Aragorn and the twins did not converse with Glorfindel as they passed him in the stable yard but continued towards the house.

"Did you know that chess was once played by four people?" Elladan asked the others.

"How? Surely that is not possible?" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Obviously it was. But no matter, I do not wish to play so the two of you can meet across a checked board."

"You are so kind, gwanunig-nín!" Elrohir exclaimed, bowing low to Elladan. Elladan rolled his eyes.

A messenger walked sedately down the steps to his horse, which was currently being held by a stable hand. Glorfindel stopped under the archway to watch. The three looked at each other as they sensed the tension.

"Where's he going?" Aragorn asked.

"To Mirkwood, most likely," Elladan said.

"But he'll never find Thranduil in 8 thousand square miles of forest!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"He may be home again by the time the messenger reaches his halls," Elrohir reminded his foster brother.

The messenger mounted and was about to leave when Erestor pelted out of one of the side gardens and ran up to the messenger. He passed a second letter to him before bidding him a safe journey. Then finally, the messenger left.

The messenger's return just over six weeks later was unexpected. Usually it took at least seven to get from one realm to the other and back, and that was when you reached one Elf-lord's door, turned and immediately set off again. Luckily, Erestor was in the courtyard when the rider returned. His horse was drenched in sweat and the messenger was completely worn out. He handed a letter to Erestor and asked his to relay it to Elrond as soon as possible.

"But it is addressed to me."

"I trust that Elrond needs to know its contents."

Erestor nodded, confused, and went back into the house, opening the letter as he did so. As he read, his face grew more and more scared. Once he finished, he read it through again and then sped to the Hall of Fire. Without bothering to knock, he charged in and stood in the middle of the floor. Elrond, Glorfindel and Elladan looked up as he entered and then at the parchment in his hand expectantly. Erestor calmed his breathing before summarising the letter,

"The Dúnedain have been attached and have fled to Thranduil's halls for safety. Most are alive but the raiders kept asking after the heir of Isildur. Thranduil thinks that they are servants of the Necromancer. Another simultaneous attack was staged on the Woodmen, not ten leagues away from where Aragorn met Thranduil that night. They know this because the survivors found his campsite.

"Thranduil has his suspicions about where the Necromancer has gone and sent his chief of the guards out with 1 gross of archers to capture as many of the raiders as possible. None have returned so far. Thranduil set out with two dozen archers to find them and bring them home three days before our messenger reached Mirkwood. The remnants of the gross returned the day before our messenger arrived but there was no sign of Thranduil. Fortunately, our messenger passed him on the Elf path but he and his company were badly wounded and would say nothing of their mission."

"Who wrote the letter?"

"Galion."

"And Eldu is safe now."

"For the moment, yes, but you know what he's like; he'll keep leading missions until the Necromancer's servants are banished from his realm or destroyed all together. They need our help, Elrond. They still haven't recovered from the Battle of the Five Armies!"

"He threatened my son!"

Aragorn spoke for the first time, "To get me out of the way. Atar, if I had followed the eaves of the forest as I had planned, I would have been found and killed. Even though the attack occurred after I had gone, the forces sent to attack my people wouldn't have been that far behind me. And if Thranduil hadn't told me to come here and I had ridden on to the Dúnedain I would be dead now, or worse."

Glorfindel poked his head round the door, "A messenger bird has just come from Mirkwood. Thranduil returned home only to gather more forces and supplies and ride out again. Now most of his companions and all of their horses have returned but there is no sign of Eldu and six of his men."

* * *

A/N: I hope the ending isn't too lame...

* See my fanfic _Feathers _for more information

**Translations:**

_Atar_ **– **Father (Quenya)

_Heru-nín _**– **My Lord (Quenya)

_Lau _**– **No (Quenya)

_Hini_** – **Children (Quenya)

_Gwanunig_** – **Twin [one of a pair] (Quenya)


	3. Dos à dos

Five worn out Elves scrambled down into the glade, one carrying the sixth. Gaerfinnel laid Dangweth down gently on the grass before rejoining the others.

"Do you think he'll live?" Girithron asked.

"Not unless he's seen to quickly," Gaerfinnel replied, quietly. Girithron nodded sadly. Then the guard realised why their surroundings seemed familiar, "Isn't this where Bereth Míriel died?" Both looked at Thranduil, who met their gaze,

"That makes this the last place they'll look. They know we are in this area; they have surrounded us and it would be folly to try and escape them, especially with Dangweth the way he is."

The other four Elves nodded and all of them silently began securing their location as best they could. Thranduil did the most in an effort to take his mind off what had happened all that time ago. There wasn't much that needed doing, just a routine scout to make sure they were safe and making sure Dangweth was as warm as possible. Therefore as the darkness descended each Elf slowly wandered to their post and was left to his own thoughts.

Despite his best efforts, Thranduil soon found himself reliving that horrific day when he and Míriel were set upon by yrch and thanked the Valar once again that they had decided to leave their 6 year old son* at home. Both of them were close to death and he wished again that he had been the one who had died. The nearby trees, although stained black by the evil in the air, were not dark at heart and so they whispered their sympathies. The Elvenking heeded them not so wrapped up in his memories was he; reliving every blow, every shout, every breath...

"Aranhîr?" Gaerfinnel whispered.

"Mmm?"

"There are enemy noises coming from just beyond the tree line." The copper haired Elf whispered, his tone frightened, "and they are moving,"

"Tell the others to be ready," Thranduil answered, looking at where Gaerfinnel had been standing, but all was pitch black so he saw nothing. Gaerfinnel nodded and moved off to tell the others. The Sinda could hear their hushed conversations and he kept an even more careful lookout until he heard Gaerfinnel almost silently return to his post. The camp fell still again but the air was far tenser. It seemed that none of the Elves dared to breathe, apart from the still unconscious Dangweth.

The middle night passed and the sky began to lighten ever so slightly; still nothing happened.

"Are you sure you didn't imagine it?" Girithron whispered. The other three conscious guards shifted at this and dropped their guard.

Suddenly, a strong arm grabbed Thranduil round the neck from behind and proceeded to try and choke him. Instantly, the Elf pulled down on the arm, dropped his body weight, turned into the arm's crook and hooked one leg around that of the orc's. The creature toppled backwards taking Thranduil with him but all its power had gone; Thranduil easily escaped from its grip and sprinted into the clearing, one hand at his bruised throat and the other swiftly drawing his sword. He turned about just in time and plunged his sword into the pursuing orc's chest. The others had by now also joined the action as yrch came from every side. Thranduil drew one of his daggers and ran at the enemy, wielding his weapons with acute precision and screaming like a banshee. Those yrch who had never encountered Thranduil before were perturbed but the others fought on regardless. Even so the Elves were making good progress. Orcs littered the glade and they were still to obtain a casualty. Those yrch not governed by the Necromancer but had been drafted in to help broke and ran back to their dens The Elves' fighting became even more spectacular as they sensed victory, even though Thranduil had had to stop screaming because it hurt his bruised throat too much. The others took over this role instead, making an even louder noise and causing more yrch to falter.

But then one of the yrch spotted Dangweth and the young Ellon breathed no more. His elder brother screamed in anguish and despair and decapitated his killer in one fell swoop, but this only added to his grief for he knew he could easily have prevented the tragedy. Thranduil and Gaerfinnel pulled him to his feet as he collapsed,

"We need you," Thranduil said hoarsely. Maercredirwept but nodded and carried on fighting. But Dangweth's death had brought the Elves' confidence down to nothing. They fought but not as strongly as they had done. Maercredir seemed not to be trying which brought their fighting force down significantly. Girithron was about to clip him round the ear but Thranduil spotted his hand and shook his head.

"If he doesn't pull his weight we shall all perish!" Girithron screamed at his monarch, just as two dozen more yrch joined the fray.

"Iston!"

"Then what are we going to do?" He asked whilst stabbing yet another orc in the chest. It crumpled and the Elf turned back to his monarch. Thranduil liked his lips nervously while knifing an orc coming up behind him between the eyes, "Run?"

"Looks like we'll have to," Thranduil said.

"Man?"

"Break and run!" he called out over the glade, "All of you, get out of here!"

The Elves obeyed as best they could. Maercredir was almost in safety when an orcish arrow hit him squarely in the back and he fell. Lathron rushed to him but it was already too late. He made eye contact with his king and shook his head.

"Bado!" Thranduil ordered and Lathron and Gaerfinnel disappeared.

"Come on, Aranhîr," Girithron said, suddenly at Thranduil's shoulder.

"You go, I need to do something first."

"No, I'm staying with you!"

"As you wish."

The lead orc surveyed the scene, wickedly and Thranduil braced himself. Girithron realised what he meant to do, "No, Aranhîr, you're already injured, you'll be slain."

"Then maybe there will finally be justice."

"Sire, you aren't in your right mind. Let us leave!"

"He has seen us now," Thranduil stated as the orc leader snarled at them, "Save yourself."

"But-"

"_Get out of here!"_

"You're mad, Sire," Girithron said, sadly. Then he ran for his life.

oOo

"Hurry up!"

"Alright, Erestor, I'm going as fast as I can!" Glorfindel slowed up just to annoy the adviser. Erestor was duly annoyed, so much so that he jumped up and down, waving clenched fists.

"This isn't a joke! Something is happening, I can feel it!"

"Well, if something is happening right now then it will have ended in a month's time when we finally reach Mirkwood so the situation is well and truly out of our control."

Erestor didn't look best pleased with this reasoning. Smoke was almost coming out of his ears, "But the sooner we get there the more we can help!"

"I don't see you badgering Aragorn or the twins," Glorfindel said.

"No because they aren't being deliberately slow!"

"Neither am I but these things take time."

Erestor screamed in frustration.

oOo

He could feel his pulse racing as the orc drew his scimitar. Black eyes met sapphire ones and both sides resolved to win. Thranduil felt the adrenaline rush finally taking the place of his fear and he changed his grip on his sword. Then they ran at each other.

Sword clashed on scimitar. The orc, taller than normal, was half a foot taller than the Elf but the Elf was far more nimble. With his glowing broadsword locked he drew a dagger and buried it into the orc's abdomen. The beast grunted and retaliated by swinging its scimitar high above its head and bringing it down swiftly, but not swiftly enough for Thranduil, on an adrenaline high, easily dodged it and cut deeply into the insides of the beasts elbow joints. The orc retaliated by picking the Elf up by his left ankle. Thranduil heard his knee grind and cursed inwardly. From his upside down position, he swiped at the orc's chest and made a dozen deep gashes there, but the orc didn't know that pain existed. So long as it could keep fighting, it would. It brought its scimitar up again and Thranduil knew he would have to act fast. Somehow, he managed to wriggle his foot out of his boot and he fell on the hard ground head first. For just a few seconds, he couldn't see anything but that was all his aggressor needed. Once again picking the dazed, blind Elf up by his ankles, he hurled him against a tree. Thranduil's eardrums ruptured on impact and, as he fell into the darkness of unconsciousness, he felt something hard and cold hit his face. He half heartedly braced himself for the final blow but passed out before it came.

oOo

The day after the skirmish, Glorfindel, Erestor, Aragorn and the twins finally rode out of Imladris, Erestor sulking somewhat at the delay.

"What's wrong?" Elladan asked, kicking his horse on so he rode abreast with Erestor.

"My feeling of impending doom had gone," Erestor replied, morosely.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"No. It means that whatever the doom was it is no longer pending."

Elladan looked straight ahead. There was no point trying to talk to Erestor when he was in one of his moods.

Further up in the caravan, Glorfindel was creating a feeling of personal impending doom for Aragorn, "I wonder if the Dúnedain are still in Thranduil's halls."

Aragorn looked up from Tawarosp's withers (Elrond had lent him his horse because it, at least, knew the way). His face fell, "I really don't want to meet them again like this."

Glorfindel turned to smile at the heir of Isildur, "We are all young at some point, even us Elves. They do not hate you; they just don't respect you as their leader yet. You need to prove yourself to them, and isn't it better to rule over a people who need to have proof?"

"Mae," Aragorn muttered, "but I find it very intimidating."

"Every vice is a gift and every gift is a vice," Glorfindel said, "I shouldn't worry about it just yet; we shan't meet them for another month or so. And besides, if things had been different you would have met them again months ago!"

"'If things had been different'," Aragorn muttered, "Things could _always_ have been different."

* * *

**Translations:**

_Aranhîr_ **–** Lord king

_Yrch _**– **orcs

_Ellon_ **–** male Elf, especially used for children or those younger than the user

_Man_ **–** general question word (who, what, when, where, why, how) in this case 'what'

_Mae_ **–** yes (literally 'well')


	4. L'homme silencieux

Thranduil's halls were wondrous indeed; based on Menegroth though nowhere near as fine. Even so they took the layman's breath away. At the end of one of the main state halls was a very fine staircase. It swept up centrally in a graceful line and reached to back wall half way between the ground and first floors. Here, it split into two arms, one reaching up to the left against the wall and the other to the right. The two arms connected with the upper floor on either side of the hall below and the precipice between them was made safe by the same elegant gold banisters and mahogany balustrade as on the stairs themselves.

On these most eye catching of stairs was sat a most eye catching figure. He was sat by one of the banisters but was not, as yet, leaning against it. This was not too unusual and the stairs were more than wide enough to accommodate his presence; it was his garb that attracted the stares of passing civilians. He wore a long hooded black cloak that must have once been fit for a prince - the hood was pulled up so his rugged features were covered. All that could be seen were the ends of brown, shoulder length hair speckled with premature grey. His cloak clasp was a white star and he hadn't said a word since explaining his people's situation to Thranduil on their arrival. These were why the Elves gazed at him and whispered to each other

"Man so?"

"So Dúnadan."

He heard the whispers of awe but did not respond. In truth it made him uncomfortable to sit here in the view of everyone but he needed to be here, for the same reason that the Elvenking frequently stood in the centre of the balustrade above the man and braced his hands against it and stared for hours at the doors opposite; one commanded an amazing view from here of the string of halls, leading off the passage from the main gates, that to these crossroads at the public centre of the palace. Unfortunately the double doors were closed this morning but that didn't stop the Dúnedain lord taking up his usual post. Something told him that something important had happened and he would be here to see it.

Suddenly, as if by some silent order, the hall and stairs emptied so he was the only living being in the space. This suited him perfectly, and proved that something was indeed about to happen. He shifted slightly so he could see more of the hall in front of him.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, uneven footsteps. He tensed; whoever was coming was badly wounded. The left door opened slowly and a battle weary Elf walked into the hall backwards, turning as he came clear of the door. In his arms was the Elvenking, a very limp king, his face covered in blood from a long deep gash stretching from left temple to chin, narrowly missing his eye, and whose left knee joint was bent at a strange angle. The strange Elf saw the Dúnadan; their gazes met for a brief moment and then the Elf walked brusquely on towards the healing houses. The man kept his face neutral as the Elf passed but inwardly his heart was racing and his stomach was knotting. _Is he dead? If he is then what on Arda are we going to do?_ He jumped up and followed the Elf like a shadow before he could change his mind.

When he reached the healing houses he snuck in and kept to the shadows. There was no noise from the other patients because they were all doing the same as him; eavesdropping on the strange Elf and healer's conversation.

"It's a good thing you stayed nearby, Girithron."

"Mae."

"Our king owes you his life."

"You think he'll live?" Elation crept into this Girithron's voice, "I..." His voice faltered, the healer must be giving him one of _those_ looks, "...he looked pretty far gone when I came to him."

"He is pretty bad, I'll admit, but nothing a few stitches and a splint can't fix, hmm?"

There was a short, uncomfortable silence in which the listening wounded exchanged a mixture of delighted and saddened looks. Then,

"There is something else. He hit his head quite hard, twice." There was a sharp intake of breath form the other patients. The Dúnadan did not dare to breathe. Girithron must have heard but carried on, "What if he's deaf?"

"Such an impact only rarely deafens the person-"

"Or blind?"

"Temporary blindness is common with such impacts-"

"But what if it's _permanent_?"

"_If_ it is permanent then we will have a blind king, won't we? To be perfectly honest I think memory loss is the most likely problem he'll face."

One of the wounded Elves whimpered and the others shushed him reassuringly. Girithron looked behind him, displaying his agonised expression, and then he turned back, "But how can he rule us if he can't remember anything?"

"True, but he may well just have a splitting headache for a while. Now if you'll excuse me-" The far doors opened and the crown prince entered, his face set. "Ah, Master Legolas, I was wondering when I would see you," the healer greeted his prince. The Dúnadan seized the opportunity and slipped out through the closing door.

oOo

A week or so later, the Dúnadan was treated to a spectacle. Once again he was sitting on the main stairs when one of the doors out of sight opened. Someone with a limp entered the hall and soon he had walked past the lower part of the stairs. As expected it was Thranduil, holding his staff like a walking stick in his left hand and a long hazel branch in the other. The latter was being swung around in a don't-notice fashion that made the man want to laugh. It was obvious that the king was abroad without his healers' permission. However, his freedom was brief for he was apprehended as he made the middle of the hall.

"Aranhîr!"

Thranduil sighed and turned about so now his left side was facing the man. The deep gash was now a long, reddish brown scab which looked rather painful. In some places it was knocked, betraying when the itching had got the better of the king's judgement.

"Where do you think you are going?" Galion asked, trotting up to stand in front of his monarch.

"As far away from that healing wing as possible; the place is making me sick!"

"Fine," the butler said, "_if_ you can see my hand." He moved his right hand away from his body. Thranduil's eyes scanned the area in front of him, passing by the hand twice. His own hands moved outwards of their own accord, dropping the staff and branch as they did so, and the man had to bit his lip to prevent himself laughing so pathetically funny did Thranduil look.

"Which?" The Sinda asked.

"My right, your left."

There was a pause, "I can see _you_, and I made it here. It's getting better!"

"Mae, but it's not good enough. You'll walk into something-"

"What if you stayed with me?"

Now it was Galion's turn to sigh, "Maybe you do need a change of scene." Thranduil stared at him, not quite in the eye because he slightly misjudged Galion's position. The butler was quick to notice, "Come on, let's take you somewhere else. But now you're lumbered with me, okay, until your sight's good enough."

Galion picked up the staff and branch from where they lay at Thranduil's feet, Thranduil's eyes didn't follow his movements and then, taking his monarch and closest friend by the arm, the butler lead him slowly towards and up the stairs. As they drew closer to the Dúnadan, Thranduil greeted him,

"Mae, govannen, Sigilhûn."

Galion's and the Dúnadan's eyes widened.

"Sire," he managed to stutter as the pair passed him and carried on. He heard Galion whisper,

"How did you do that?"

"I told you, my eyesight's perfectly fine!"

"Nay, you must have heard his breathing!"

_Even that ability is very worrying for the enemy!_ Sigilhûn thought.

oOo

Sigilhûn decided that he was rather fond of his spot on the stairs. Three weeks had passed since Thranduil's return and the palace was finally relaxing. The slow yet steady trickle of Elves through the hall beneath him was soporific and he found himself drifting off when,

"I have competition, I see!"

The man jumped and looked up and behind.

There, standing in his usual place at the centre of the balustrade, was Thranduil looking down on the man, a smile dancing around his lips. The gash was now reduced to a thin reddish pink line; Sigilhûn couldn't help but marvel at the swiftness of its healing.

"All Elves heal faster than mortals," Thranduil said as if he had read the mortal's expression, which in fact he had. Sigilhûn swallowed and asked,

"How is your sight, your lordship?"

"Ah, you heard about that then? It's almost perfect; currently it is slightly better than yours, I fancy."

"That's good to know," the Dúnadan muttered and the smile broke out across the Elvenking's features. Sigilhûn couldn't help but grin, too,

"You should smile more often," he found himself saying, "your face lights up when you smile."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, "I shall pretend you didn't say that, Herdir Sigilhûn."

Girithron trotted through the hall below them. Thranduil pulled himself up and hailed him,

"Girithron! I've been looking for you!"

Girithron turned and bowed to his sovereign, "My lord, how are the eyes?"

"They shall be good as new in a few days time, meldir," Thranduil replied. Girithron beamed, bowed and exited. Sigilhûn turned slightly to face the Elvenking more.

"What actually happened on that fateful morning?" he asked, slowly.

Thranduil looked down his nose at the man and Sigilhûn thought that he suddenly looked very old yet very beautiful.

"I trust that you have been told the details of the fight between the orc leader and me?" The Dúnadan nodded. Even though the movement was muffled by the presence of his hood the Sinda noticed it and carried on,

"I was against the tree; deaf, blind and swiftly losing consciousness. I had told Girithron to leave but he did not obey me – how glad I am of that now. The orc was about to deal the fatal blow when Girithron shot him square in the back of the neck. The beast turned round to find him but as he did so Girithron's dagger severed his oesophagus. I was seconds away from Mandos' Halls then but by the grace of stubborn companions I was saved. The only downside is that now all my generals have vowed to question every order I give them." Ancient eyes sparkled and Sigilhûn knew that no-one thought this an entirely bad thing.

Both were silent for a while but soon the silence was broken by the sound of running feet. Thranduil and Sigilhûn both looked up as one of the guards entered, "Aranhîr," he said first, bowing to Thranduil and then upon spotting the man, "Herdir. Reports have just reached us, sirs, that a company from Imladris has passed the borders of the forest."

"Who rides in the company?" Thranduil asked.

"The Peredhil, Erestor, Glorfindel and Aragorn on Elrond's horse, Sire."

"Hannon-le, herdir," Thranduil said, his gaze flicking to the now tense Dúnadan. The messenger bowed once more and left, but not before his gaze too went to the black figure. When he was sure the messenger was out of earshot, Thranduil asked, "Why do you act so upon the coming of your leader?"

Sigilhûn breathed in deeply before answering quietly, "With the greatest respect, sir, that is nobody's business but the Dúnedain. And now, by your leave." He stood, walked down the stairs, bowed to the Elvenking and strode out of the hall, leaving Thranduil to lean on the balustrade and try to fathom this revelation out.

* * *

**Translations:**

_so **- **_he is/is he

_Hannon-le _**- **thank you

A/N: Their might be a bit of a gap now as I suddenly have a lot of coursework to do but as soon as I can I will write and post the next chapter. ^_^


	5. Juste une question

A/N: I have no idea why I decided to give the chapters titles in French but now I've started I can't really stop. :¬S Remind me to stick to English next time!

Also, I really tried to make this chapter about Aragorn but, well, I failed. Maybe if I get him away from Thranduil I will have more luck...

Enjoy! ^_^

* * *

A few days later, Glorfindel, Erestor, Aragorn and the twins reached Thranduil's halls. For Aragorn, everything was new. As they rode across the bridge over the swift, black river, the man whispered to Erestor,

"Where are the gates?"

"Have you not been here before?" Erestor asked in amazement. Aragorn shook his head and Erestor grinned, "You'll see them when we draw nearer."

Beyond the bridge, the path fanned out into a courtyard, overhung by still orange and silver beeches. The courtyard was currently more akin to a marketplace as Elves bustled everywhere about their work or stood in small groups. Aragorn dismounted and gazed about him while a groom rushed forward to take his and Erestor's horses.

"This place is chaotic!" Aragorn whispered as he felt Erestor at his shoulder. The adviser shook his head slowly,

"Nay, penneth, not chaotic but _alive_."

Glorfindel sauntered over to them, "This place always reminds me of Menegroth in its heyday." Erestor nodded and Aragorn searched for the twins, who were nowhere to be seen. But when he voiced his concern to Erestor the adviser merely laughed.

"I wouldn't worry about them; they'll turn u-"

"Legolas!"

"They're over there," Erestor continued, nodding in the direction of the cry, "Let's go." The elder Elves weaved their way towards the gate with Aragorn as close behind them as he could be, gazing about him in scared wonder. The scene that greeted them there was that of a well-to-do blond Elf sandwiched between Elladan and Elrohir, neither of whom had any intention of letting go.

"Herdir Legolas," Glorfindel greeted, barely suppressing his laughter. The prince gave him a glare his father would be proud of and the Peredhil finally lessened their grip. Legolas quickly moved away before they could change their minds. His expression lightened as he saw Erestor.

"Hîr Glorfindel, Erestor, Herdir Estel."

"Aragorn, for the sake of convention, this is Legolas Thranduilion-"

"We've met," Aragorn cut Erestor off, "Herdir Legolas visited Imladris when I was just ten."

"Dragon business," Legolas added, for Glorfindel looked lost, "and that of the Necromancer."

"Why do you whisper the Necromancer's title?"

Legolas didn't answer but turned towards the gates, beckoning the others. They opened, seemingly of their own accord, just enough to let the party and a few other Elves through before closing again right on their heels. Aragorn jumped at the slight bang and glanced back at them warily.

The halls of Thranduil were based on the thousand glittering caves of Menegroth but were nowhere near as grand. In addition, the structures were slightly heavier than those in the other realms but the palace was still undoubtedly Elven. The reason for this was simple; the palace was also a fortress. All the larger halls had cover walkways half way up their walls which not only looked grand but acted as platforms for archers to fire on any enemy below. There were at least two routes to get from anywhere to anywhere else thanks to the back passages for the Elvenking remembered all too well the consequences when civilians were hemmed in by the enemy in such places. The protection was not only found in the palace. The sturdy looking stone bridge the group from Imladris had just crossed was resting on several removable blocks. Take these out and the whole structure would collapse into the torrent beneath it, but this would be a last resort for then the hill the palace was built under would be an island.

Through this bustling network of halls, corridors and passages, Legolas led them unfaltering and at such a pace that Aragorn frequently had to jog to keep up. Suddenly, they were in an antechamber and standing before a pair of heavy, oak doors covered in delicate patterns of leaves, berries and fruits inlaid with silver and gold. Legolas heaved them both open at the same time and the group walked into a very long, very high ceilinged hall. Columns that stood alone marched on either side, polished to perfection which was more than could be said of the marble floor.

"This is Thranduil's throne room. The ceiling is 30' high," Erestor said, "and each of those columns is made of a different stone, quarried from all over Arda. The cleaners kept trying to make the floor shine at first but pretty quickly the court discouraged it apart from when very high prestige visitors come. It's too much effort, pointless because so many people pass through this room, and dangerous – one heavy rainstorm, Thranduil's chief adviser slipped on the newly polished floor. The incident was made even worse because of the thin layer of water on the floor from the court's shoes." Aragorn winced and Erestor decided not to add that that had been especially worrying because of Thranduil's notoriously dodgy knee.

As they passed the middle of the throne room, Aragorn voiced a question that was bothering him, "why are there so many passageways?" For in the shadows on both walls, half way between each pillar and the next of one looked at it straight on, was a thin, elegant archway which was the entrance to a short passage that lead to a corridor running parallel with the wall. Erestor smiled, knowingly,

"Escape routes."

"But surely you don't need that many?"

"You probably don't but you can't be too careful. They don't look unsightly, do they?" Aragorn shook his head, "Well then, why not?" Erestor sighed as he saw Aragorn's expression and he realised he'd have to explain fully, _before_ they were within Thranduil's earshot. "When the Dwarves assailed Menegroth, Thingol and a few others were trapped in his throne room. Now, Thingol's throne room had 'enough' escape passages but it didn't take many Dwarves to block them all. Therefore there was no escape for the king and he was stabbed on his own dais-"

"And Thranduil was there?" Aragorn asked in wonder.

"Mae, Thranduil _and _Oropher were there."

"How did they escape?"

"The Dwarves had what they wanted, the silmaril, so the other Elves fled. Their king was dead anyway and circumstances were so dire that it would have been selfish to die there with him when you could escape."

"I can understand that but-"

"Shush! We are nearing the dais."

Set on a reasonably low dais almost but not quite at the end of this long hall was Thranduil's throne. Like the palace itself, it was very Elvish but not as light or delicate as the thrones found in Imladris and Lothlórien. It was carved of wood and age and use had made it a beautiful dark brown. Its back rose high above its occupant's head and fanned our gracefully giving Thranduil more presence, not that he needed it. A single being that can hold the attention of all in such a setting has immense presence anyway.

The Elvenking regarded them with restrained interest and humour for he could see that Aragorn was overwhelmed by this new place. He looked first to his direct left where Sigilhûn was stood and then to his far right where Galion stood just off the dais by a pillar. Galion grinned and Thranduil faced forward again before he too smiled. The space to his direct right was quickly filled by Legolas who hopped onto the dais and turned to face the newcomers as well.

Aragorn chided himself inwardly. Sat before him was one of the fairest Elves every to walk the earth and all he could look at was the angry red mark down one side of his face. He was so busy chiding himself that when Thranduil addressed him he jerked visibly in surprise.

"You have seen _m_y little scratch, now let us see _yours_."

"Oh," Aragorn hung his head, "there's nothing to see any more."

"Good-"

"Don't hang your head, Estel!" Glorfindel said, whacking the man on the arm, "_He_ gave the cut to you. _And_ it was deep when he first came home."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, "But he did not bleed to death, evidently. He may well have done if I had not discouraged him from continuing his journey."

"But why did you hurt him at all?"

"Time was short; I had no time to faff around."

"I condone your actions, my lord."

"Hannon-le, Sigilhûn."

"Who are you to allow another to harm your lord?" Glorfindel snapped. Sigilhûn tensed and Thranduil raised his long thin hands,

"Enough! If you wish to continue this argument you are more than welcome to _somewhere else_! This is _my _throne room so the only person allowed to shout is _me_! Now I am sure Galion will be more than happy to escort you to your rooms and bring you refreshments if needed. You may leave." The group bowed, some more willingly than others, and turned to leave, "Erestor! Would you come to my office later?"

"But of course, sire."

Thranduil nodded and motioned for the adviser to leave.

oOo

Erestor was always amazed by Thranduil's private office; it seemed to be the epitome of organised chaos. The shelves and even the mantelpiece were littered with ink pots, quill pens - some useable, some not - small boxes of odds and ends and he thought he could even see a clay pipe. The table by the wall, right next to the fireplace, was strewn with obsolete documents and letters. But the items on the mantelpiece were ordered in neat groups or rows and the documents were piled precisely on top of each other so one was not immediately aware of the fact that these items in fact constituted to mess. Yes, individual items may be chaotic but they were organised in a very un-chaotic way. Erestor imagined that this room was a good analogy of its occupant; completely mad yet perfectly sane.

"You came!" Thranduil exclaimed, rising from his seat at his dark oak writing desk – which had not escaped the piles of parchment and pots of quills, "Take a seat," he said, gesturing towards the two armchairs by the fire. But Erestor stayed where he was. Thranduil walked around him to shut the door the adviser had just come through before asking what was wrong.

"Nothing," Erestor reassured his old friend, "it's just that the shelves and tables are covered but there's not even a candle end on the floor."

Thranduil laughed, "_That_ old chestnut! Well, unless something terrible happens, I'm not going to change. Think how hard it is for me to keep the other halls tidy? This office and my bedchamber are the only rooms that can be like this."

"But how do you find anything?" Erestor asked, finally sitting down. Thranduil sat opposite him, a twinkle in his eye,

"In this office or in my mind?" Erestor was taken aback. "That was what you were thinking, was it not?"

"Well, yes. Both, then."

"I have no idea," Thranduil smiled, "I just do. Subconsciously, I must know where everything is.

"Anyway, I am allowing myself to be sidetracked. You must be tired so I shall now cut to the chase: what ails Aragorn?"

"Ails him?" Erestor asked, slowly.

"_Mae_. There is some tension between him and the other Dúnedain. I wondered if this was simply because he is new or for some other darker reason."

"I think it is just because he is young, Thranduil."

Thranduil rose, shaking his head, and removed the pipe carefully from the mantelpiece and examined it. Erestor held his breath, wondering what was coming next.

"It is a foul thing, isn't it?" Thranduil said, passing the pipe to Erestor, "I would dispose of it but, once in a blue moon, I might need it." He leant carefully against the mantelpiece and watched Erestor's expression, "Thrice in just less than six thousand years I have had to use it; you can still see the stain if you look hard enough."

"Tobacco?"

Thranduil shook his head, "It's medicinal," he said, making air quotes as he said 'medicinal', "It was a gift from Elrond. I tried to dispose of it but Míriel saw it before I had the chance, asked after it and then strictly forbade me to get rid of it.

"I suppose they were right; smoking it is a far more pleasant experience than the one the act prevents."

"Then that experience must truly be dreadful," Erestor said, sincerely, handing the pipe back to its reluctant owner, "I had a drag of Aragorn's pipe once – never again! I fail to see how people can breathe in smoke for pleasure."

"It must feel different for them," Thranduil reasoned, replacing the pipe with a click, "but in this particular pipe's defence I was without it and the plant during the War of the Last Alliance and I needed them badly. The war itself wasn't the most terrifying part for me; it did not even come second. For after the loss of my father and two thirds of his army came the fear my own mind created for me. I swear it knew I had nothing to tame it's imaginings with."

Erestor coughed, "We've strayed off again."

Thranduil looked at his boots, "I am sorry. I hardly ever get to sit down and just talk with anyone save Galion and Legolas, and Galion saw the events with his own eyes and I do not wish to bother Legolas with them.

"So back to business," Thranduil said, authoritatively, sitting back in his chair, "I am sure Master Aragorn is not mad."

"Not yet anyway. He may well be by the end."

"Does he know his destiny?"

"No. Elrond decided it would be better that he ask about it once he has figured at least part of it out by himself. All he knows so far is his lineage."

"Depending on how sharp he is it may not take long for him to fathom out the rest. Where is he now, do you know?"

"He said he was going to the library. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not, why would I? So long as I haven't left-" He faltered, then his eyes grew wide, "Would you excuse me?" He asked, already up and half way to the door.

"Thranduil?" Erestor asked, rising also as he followed him with his gaze. Then he too left the study, only just remembering to close the door behind him before he pelted after the swiftly disappearing Sinda, "_Your majesty?_"


	6. Chef de tous

Aragorn slammed his hands down on the table, earning him reproachful glares from the other Elves in the library. Surely there must be _something _on the kings of Númenor here _somewhere_! Thranduil and Elros had been firm friends for crying out loud! He huffed, earning him yet more glares. He leant back in his chair and stared at the ceiling- another high affair with crammed bookshelves all the way up to it; he could see them rising above his head. _Surely _some of the words written here were about his lineage.

His eyes wandered across to the bookshelf opposite him. A ladder was still clicked in place there and to one side of it, a good way up the bookshelf, was a large gap.

_That's strange. _He had thought when first browsing the bookshelves. This time, he noticed the mound of documents and books on the table nearby. Obviously, the shelf's missing occupants hadn't gone far.

_I wonder..._

Before he could get up, however, Thranduil flitted over, gathered up the whole pile of papers and flitted away again. Aragorn heard the main doors close behind the king a short while later. His brow creased.

Erestor appeared and dodged round a small group of Dwarves, who were complaining amongst themselves that the vast majority of the texts were in Sindarin, and approached Aragorn. The Dúnadan nodded towards an empty seat and Erestor took it. The adviser had barely sat down when Aragorn said,

"Isn't it wonderful that Dwarves are allowed here?"

Erestor followed Aragorn's gaze and made a non-committal noise.

"Don't you think it's great that Thranduil and Dáin get on so well?"

"What makes you say that?" Erestor asked, his head whipping round to regard the young man.

"Like I said, he allows them not only into his realm but into his people's facilities. Why, I would go so far as saying that he's glad the Dwarves have returned."

"He's fooled you too, then. Dear me; you're going to have to learn when people are wearing façades if you are to become a good leader," Erestor stated. Aragorn was about to argue so Erestor quickly continued,

"Before the Dwarves returned, the Men of the Lake looked to Thranduil as their king for there was no one else. When the Dwarves returned, Thranduil lost a lot of influence for Esgaroth - and Dale, too- is within the Dwarves' kingdom. Thranduil's kingdom pulled back to its old border on the Lake's near shore. All the lake belongs to the Lakemen and now the Lakemen belong to Erebor, therefore fish stocks are under Dwarven control. During the time of the dragon, the farmlands that were left around Esgaroth and the ruins of Dale produced enough cereal crops, milk, fruit, vegetables and farm animals for the Men and the Elves, and it belonged to the Lakemen solely so they were more than happy to give the surplice to the Elves and this surplice, when added to the surplice the Elves were receiving from Thranduil's firm friend Beorn was adequate. _Now_ this farmland and the new farmland is all under Dwarven control. Can you see where this is going? All the Elves have is game and a few berries and nuts – the really sad thing is that if the forest was well it would provide all the food the Elves here need and more! But it is extremely sick so Thranduil must rely on good relations to feed his people. And who controls the vast majority of the food in the Wild?"

"Dáin?"

"Exactly! Therefore, Thranduil must at least pretend to be friendly towards the Dwarves for if he isn't, Dáin will cut off the trade routes and Thranduil and his people will slowly starve to death."

"But surely if that were to happen food could be acquired from somewhere else-"

"Where?" Aragorn thought for a long while, then Erestor said, "Exactly," but with less zeal than before, "they can't! The woodmen, Beorn and the Elves themselves could provide some food but not enough even for Elves to survive on. Lothlórien is too far away and across the Anduin. Your people are rangers; they are not faced with the same problems. If worst comes to worst, they can relocate; they are far enough from home anyway. The Wood-elves _can't_.

"But we must remember that things are currently all well and good. There is an excellent relationship between the Elves and Dwarves, considering _which_ Elf and _which_ Dwarven family are on the two thrones," This last part was more to himself than his audience. "Anyway, look into Thranduil's eyes, if you dare, and you will see that he detests his current situation and that he is looking for any viable way of removing the Elves' dependence on the Dwarves."

"Has he thought of anything?"

"If he has, he's telling nobody."

"Do you _think_ he has?"

Erestor got up and made ready to leave, but just as Aragorn decided that he wasn't going to answer, he said, "No, not yet. It's not his main priority."

The Dwarves in the library muttered on in their own tongue, oblivious to the conversation which had occurred just a few feet away from them. Erestor bit his lip and almost thought better of expressing his wish until one of the Dwarves shouted something that was obviously and insult. The adviser decided to go for it and approached the Dwarves.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, bowing slightly. The Dwarves doffed their caps and bowed low in return, "I thought you might like to know that the Elvenking speaks Dwarvish fluently. Good day." All of the Dwarves froze as Erestor bowed again and turned away. _Perhaps you'll all be more courteous from now on!_ He thought.

Aragorn sensed a figure moving behind him and sighed.

"Sigilhûn."

"Hîr Aragorn," the Dúnadan replied, impressed and annoyed that his presence had been felt.

"Haro."

Sigilhûn nodded in thanks and sat down. Aragorn sighed, "Can't you take your hood down even for me?"

"Aran Thranduil doesn't mind-"

"Thranduil isn't your leader," Aragorn didn't realise but he spoke through clenched teeth, "_please_." Sigilhûn sighed and lowered his large hood. Aragorn smiled at the familiar weather beaten face. "It's good to actually _see_ you again." Sigilhûn rolled his grey eyes and ran his fingers through his black hair, which was turning prematurely silver.

"You haven't visited me," Sigilhûn accused, "How am I supposed to tell you what happened to our camp?"

"I know a bit," Aragorn said in defence, "I know that you were set upon by orcs-"

"But you know not how many men were there, how many perished or the state of the camp," the elder Man snapped, "What _have _you been doing?"

"Looking things up-"

"What things?"

"None of your business!"

Sigilhûn smiled, "Finally you're beginning to sound like a leader."

"What do you mean 'finally'? I am doing rather well-"

"How long have you been here? 12 hours? By this time your forebears would know so much about the attack that they could convince others that they were actually there! And how much do you know? Only that we were set upon and fled here; anyone could deduce that much!"

The surrounding Elves shushed him in unison. Sigilhûn slouched down in his chair and pulled his hood back over his head, only for Aragorn to pull it down again.

"How can I help?" the young leader asked. Sigilhûn glared up at him,

"You can visit the site with us when we return."

Aragorn paled as Sigilhûn left him to himself.

oOo

"How many suicide-"

"Martyr!"

"_Martyrdom_ then, attempts have you done now? Four?"

"It hasn't changed in six thousand years-"

"So you tried four times to kill yourself and yet you're still here? You aren't very good at martyrdom are you? _I_ managed first time-"

"And yet you returned like a bad smell."

"And I brought a Balrog down with me. What did you do? _Nothing._"

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?"

"Like I said. You killed a few yrch, it is true, but no demons, no dragons, no trolls."

"Because I had the sense not to jump up and down in front of them waving a red flag and yelling 'over here!'."

"Hey! I did _not_ wave any _flag_."

"Oh! Tetchy now, are we? Now the boot's on the other foot!"

"Yes, the _high heeled boot_. May I present Exhibit A," Glorfindel cried in triumph, yanking off Thranduil's boot and flinging it so it caught on a chandelier.

"How am I supposed to get it now?"

"I don't know, you'll think of something! After all they do say two minds are better than one!"

Thranduil rounded on him, his fists clenched, teeth bared and eyes burning. He took of his other boot and hurled it to the floor. The resounding cracking noise made the watching Elves wince. Any colour in the king's face had drained away, bringing the red mark into sharp relief. Glorfindel looked his opponent up and down as quickly as he could before smiling anxiously,

"I'm in for it now!"

Finally, Glorfindel ran with the livid Thranduil hot on his heels.

"Please let his knee give out, _please let his knee give out!_" Glorfindel repeated but the fates were against him that day. In the corridors around the antechamber, Thranduil caught up with and rugby tackled him, causing both Elves to crash to the ground with a loud thump. "Oh bloody hell, Eldu, you cracked my head!" Glorfindel cried. An evenly matched scuffle ensued, beginning as the Elves lay - on the floor - and ending up as a full blown wrestling match as they managed to stand.

Legolas and the twins stared at Erestor as the scuffle took is course in front of them.

"You told us not to intervene!" Elrohir accused the advisor.

"Would you excuse me while I go to find out who's taken my father and Glorfindel's senses?" Legolas asked. Erestor laughed at both comments,

"They're just sharpening their claws. They both have pasts and habits one can poke fun at and they are evenly matched. This sort of thing is common when Thranduil visits us-"

"Once in a blue moon."

"_Hannon-le,_ Elladan. Anyway, something tells me they both need this."

The four Elves watched as Glorfindel caught Thranduil in a headlock and Thranduil bit Glorfindel's hand.

"Ai! Ai!" Glorfindel cried, letting go of Thranduil to examine the bite marks, "You fight like an orc!"

"So do the yrch. There are no rules-"

"But I'm not an orc, am I?"

"That's debatable."

"Och! Look who's talking!"

"How _dare_ you?" Thranduil went very quiet and _even_ whiter.

"_Now _we intervene," Erestor whispered to the younger Elves. Legolas and the Peredhil sprang between the fighting Elves.

"That's enough now," Erestor said firmly, preparing himself in case he had to drag them apart.

"Okay," Glorfindel said, straightening up and massaging his hand.

"Sorry for biting you; reflex action."

"Pfft! Worry not, it is merely a mark. I'll help you get your boot back once I've had a rest."

"Hannon-le. But the orc comment was a bit much."

"I know, but it was so good, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," the Sinda admitted, grudgingly, "Fancy a drink?"

"I'd love one!"

And they walked away, arm in arm as if nothing had happened. The Peredhil and Legolas stared after them, mouths hanging open. Erestor looked up the the heavens, "Ilúvatar, give me strength!"

Glorfindel and Thranduil were not alone in the kitchens. Sigilhûn and Aragorn were there already – Sigilhûn had got them thrown out of the library. Aragorn was holding his chin in his hand, muttering under his breath and Sigilhûn was staring straight ahead, his hands wrapped around a flagon full of beer he'd found in a dusty barrel in a corner. It was amazing what one could find in this palace if one rooted around a bit. The Elves looked at each other, nodded, and sat opposite the men, Glorfindel opposite Sigilhûn and Thranduil opposite Aragorn.

"What ails you?" The king asked and both Elves put their head to one side. Aragorn lifted up his eyes and gazed at them coldly.

"How very strange," he said, sarcastically, "and nothing is ailing me."

"He fears leadership."

"Thanks, Sigilhûn."

"Just as well really; he's terrible at it."

"Oh come, come, Sigilhûn," Thranduil soothed, turning his attention towards the second Dúnadan, "He has learnt a lot in just over a year! Give him a break." Turning back to Aragorn, he said, "I think you're doing well, considering." Sigilhûn smirked. "You know where the gates are," Thranduil retorted. Sigilhûn shut up.

"Even so," Glorfindel continued, "you need to assert yourself more. When do you plan to visit the camp?"

"I'm not planning on it. I came to check on His Majesty. He is fine so now I shall return to my wonderings."

"Whither do you plan to go?" Thranduil asked, leaning forward, "When I apprehended you, you were heading towards said camp. Therefore if you intend to pretend that the events from your little scratch to the present moment didn't occur, you would still be headed in the same direction as Sigilhûn is proposing."

Glorfindel stared at Thranduil,

"Good lord, you said something clever." He whispered

"I often do but you're too busy chewing straw to notice."

Glorfindel grimaced, "If I was as short as you I'd tread lightly."

"Small but dangerous."

"Well then," Thranduil addressed the men, rising as he did so and motioning to Glorfindel to do the same, "I think we should leave you be, don't you, Lord Glorfindel."

"Yes," Glorfindel said, turning to look where he expected Thranduil's eyes to be only to find them two inches lower than normal. Both Elves bowed and left and, as they did so, Glorfindel whispered, "You really _are_ short!"

"You're just tall."

"What about our drinks?"

"I have a decanter of wine in my study."

"_You_ would."

Then they were gone.

Sigilhûn downed the beer in one go and set the flagon on the table.

"We leave at dawn," he announced. Aragorn moaned, "and you're companions are coming with us. And if the Elvenking is indeed drinking with Lord Glorfindel then I shall persuade him to join us when he is feeling the wine's affects."

"Don't hold your breath!" Aragorn muttered as Sigilhûn made his way to the door.

"Either way," the older Man continued - either ignoring or not having heard his leader's remark, "you shall lead all of us."

Aragorn's chin slipped off its support.

* * *

A/N: Concerning Thranduil and Glorfindel's 'moment'; I have no idea what it was about either. ^^


	7. Le calme avant la tempête

Two chapters in as many days! Aren't you lucky? (Don't answer that)

* * *

"Eldu?" Galion sang, closing the office door behind him and walking over to stand behind Thranduil's chair. Thranduil craned his neck backwards and stared at his butler, "I know that you in your infinite wisdom-" here Glorfindel snorted (unfortunately he had a mouthful of wine which promptly spurted out of his nose) "- will have the answer but why was one of your boots in the middle of the antechamber?" Thranduil held up a hand and Galion passed the boot to him. He inspected it, as did Glorfindel from where he was sat.

"I'm surprised the heel didn't crack."

"It did," Thranduil said, tracing the hairline crack in the layer of antler attached to the main leather heel.

"_That's not a crack!_"

Thranduil passed it back to Galion, "It's no use without the other one, anyway."

"Where is the other one?"

"You didn't look up, then?" Glorfindel chuckled. Galion looked confused.

"_Someone_ threw it onto the chandelier," Thranduil said. Galion rolled his eyes,

"It can stay there for a while until _someone _decides to get it down."

"It wasn't me!"

"Of course not, sire."

"Why would I throw my own boot onto a chandelier?"

"I assumed that you had had too much to drink, gwador. Which reminds me; Sigilhûn plans to wait until you are intoxicated before talking you into accompanying the Dúnedain and the group from Imladris when they return to the Dúnedain camp."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, "Let him live in hope!" just as Glorfindel's eyes lit up,

"Is that an invitation to see who can drink each other under the table?"

"No. Try with your own wine."

"I appear to be lacking in the wine department."

"And whose fault is that?"

There was a sharp knock on the door. All three Elves turned to look.

"That'll be Sigilhûn," Galion said flatly.

"He thinks I'll be drunk already?" Thranduil asked, amused, "He really doesn't know me."

"I shall find you another pair of boots, sire," Galion interrupted, excusing himself.

"Because that is so very difficult," Glorfindel jibed. Thranduil ignored him. (Thranduil loved fine things, be they jewels, prose, the forest itself, horses, clothes or shoes. He had at least 2 pairs of the latter for every occasion but only ever seemed to wear three of these pairs.) Sigilhûn knocked again and Thranduil leant back in his chair.

"Let him in as you go out, Galion."

The butler nodded and did as asked. In the intervening time period as the ranger crossed the floor, Thranduil composed his features into the expression of the slightly drunk and motioned to Glorfindel to do the same; the Balrog slayer was more than happy to play along.

"Your Majesty, my lord," Sigilhûn hailed them, standing just behind Thranduil's chair. The king waved him into his line of view with a flamboyant hand.

"My dear Sigilhûn!" Thranduil exclaimed in his heavy Doriath accent – he reacquired it whenever he sang, expressed a strong emotion about something or had a little too much to drink, hence now. It was a very musical lilt, the pitch of which kept changing, flowing like a clear stream off a mountain. Mind you, all Elves speak in a musical, Celtic manner.

"You've set me off," Glorfindel said, slipping back into his Gondolin lilt – a bit lordlier and cleaner cut than Thranduil's and less apt for song. Sigilhûn sighed as both immortals began giggling.

"My lords," he cut across their mirth heavily, "The lord Aragorn is leading us back to camp and we would be honoured if you and your retinue, Glorfindel, and you and your son, your majesty, honoured us with your presence."

"Well I don't know about our Sindarin friend but Erestor, the twins and I practically have to go. Who else will save Estel from the wrath of his despondent people?" Glorfindel asked, dramatically.

"I don't know but he certainly shan't be any safer with you there," Thranduil said, "but, my lord Sigilhûn, what purpose would my son and I serve?"

"You would be there for moral support-"

"I hardly know the man and Legolas and he have met only the once!"

"Twice, you idiot."

"'Ey? Ah, of course; twice then." He wriggled down into his chair and wiggled his eyebrows at Sigilhûn over his goblet.

"He really is drunk-"

"Nay, that's just normal!" Glorfindel cut in, having overheard Sigilhûn's mutter.

"My dear Glorfindel, don't you know it's incredibly rude to talk over a guest like that!" Thranduil sang, pointing at his companion with his left hand.

"But I am your guest, too."

Thranduil smiled, "I was forgetting that; you have made yourself so at home! Pray, continue, Sigilhûn."

"Well," Sigilhûn stalled having lost his train of thought, "well, you would provide moral support and be a back up for us should Aragorn prove to be a total waste of space." Thranduil feigned shock,

"How can you talk of your leader in such a way?"

"You have seen him with your own eyes, my lord; he is not a natural leader."

"Law, he just needs a little practice!"

Sigilhûn couldn't believe his luck as Thranduil appeared to walk straight into his wishes, "Then my lord would surely have no objection if Aragorn were to assume power over him, just for this occasion of course?"

"None at all!" Thranduil assured him with a wave of his free hand. Sigilhûn breathed an audible sigh of relief. "When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow noon."

"Noon? Upon whose orders?"

"Mine."

Thranduil nodded but raised an eyebrow at Glorfindel, "Very well. We shall all be ready."

Sigilhûn bowed and took his leave. Glorfindel coughed and reverted to his current normal accent, "He fell for it, hook line and sinker!"

"Indeed he did," Thranduil replied, still in his Doriath accent. He replaced his goblet on the fireside table and placed his fingertips together.

"You can stop talking like that now!"

"In actual fact, I cannot. I have not been dead for any of the years between now and the First Age, therefore it takes a while for the accent to leave me. Imitations are different for they were never my voice," he swiftly added as he read Glorfindel's expression.

"Mae, and you can stop doing _that_ as well," Glorfindel huffed as he felt the sapphire eyes scrutinise his features, "you're almost as bad as Galadriel."

"Say that not!"

"It is the truth!"

And so the conversation degenerated.

oOo

Galion had followed his nose to the kitchens only to find the corner of the kitchen from whence the smell came to be void of kitchen staff. Instead there was the Elvenking, once again in heels, with his thick mane of hair tied up with a length of leather cord.

"What is that smell?" Galion asked as he noticed that Thranduil was without jewellery, apart from the two rings he always wore. The Sinda moved to one side to reveal "Lemon curd tarts!" Galion's eyes lit up and he licked his lips.

"To see us on our way (and to cheer up Legolas)," Thranduil said.

"May I have one?"

"Are you coming with us?"

"I will if it means I get a tart."

Thranduil laughed, "Come off it! They're not _that _amazing. In fact they are positively _plain _compared to the ones my mother made."

"Did you use her recipe?" Galion asked, holding back his hair and taking a prolonged sniff of the air above the desserts.

"Of course," Thranduil said, shifting Galion out of the way and transferring the tarts from tray to serving dish. "Would you take them through to the breakfast room for me?"

"You made them!"

"Yes. Kings can make food but, on occasions such as this, it is not permitted for them to carry the food in. It is written in law."

"You just made that up!"

Thranduil looked down his nose at his butler, "Yes I did. And I think you'll find I made up all the other laws, too."

"Actually you didn't; Oroph-" But his audience had already gone through to the breakfast room.

Seated around the table were Aragorn, Sigilhûn and his Dúnedain – they still refused to be called Aragorn's – Glorfindel, Erestor, the Peredhil, Legolas and now Thranduil. All sat in silence but Erestor and Glorfindel were fidgety.

"Well this is going to be a jolly trip," Erestor whispered to Glorfindel, who was sat next to him.

"It's all these bleeding Dúnedain and their inability to make conversation. Maybe that's why they don't like Estel; because he actually talks."

"Shut up."

Legolas was slumped in the chair to the right of the one at the head of the table, picking at his fingernails. Thranduil spotted both nail picking and posture and kicked his son under the table. Legolas jerked upright and looked to his immediate left.

"Sit up straight!" his father whispered. Legolas obeyed but presently returned to cleaning his nails. Thranduil slapped his hand, "And stop doing that, too." Legolas was about to argue but spotted his father's expression just in time; Thranduil was no more comfortable in this situation than he was. So the prince busied himself by staring out Elladan who was diagonally opposite him and bored as well. Glorfindel rested his cheek on the table top so he could copy them and stare out Thranduil. However he quickly felt that he was slowly being hypnotised and stopped.

All this happened in the time it took Galion to pick up the tray, balance it and bring it through to the table. As he laid it on the table, he caught his king's pleading expression. Straightening up, he shrugged and left. At least the tarts sparked a little conversation, mainly praising Thranduil for his culinary skills. He responded to the praise with a slight smile but felt it was undeserved. He remained silent as he thought about how much better his naneth's were, and how much he missed her, his father and his wife. He pulled himself back to the present before a tear had the chance to escape his eyelids.

"Right!" Aragorn suddenly exclaimed. _Sigilhûn must have kicked him, too_ Thranduil thought, "is everyone ready to leave?"

"Mae," the Elves said in unison. The Dúnedain merely nodded.

"Good," Aragorn said, sounding disconcerted, "good. Well then, we shall leave at noon."

"Why do I get the feeling we're all going to regret this?" Elladan asked his twin.

* * *

A/N: deserts, desserts. I fear I have used the wrong one -sweatdrop-

a lot shorter than planned but I think the next one will be the main one, and therefore long. ^^


	8. La tempête

There was considerable noise as everyone's chair was scraped back at the same time. The Dúnedain bowed low to the Elves, who bowed back, and left through the side door as opposed to the main one as a sign of respect.

"If only all Men were like them," Thranduil said to his son as he led the Elves out through the main doors. Galion quickly moved to his monarch's side. "That could have gone better," Thranduil whispered to him. Galion nodded, his face becoming anxious.

"You will all be alright, wont you?" Galion asked the group.

"Of course; we'll have Glorfindel with us! If we are assailed by a demon from the Underworld, I'll shove him in front and run the other way."

"You are more that welcome to, Sire," Glorfindel answered from just behind the twins, "and if we should bump into the Necromancer I'll be sure to do the same to you."

Thranduil rolled his eyes, "He's grinning, isn't he?" he whispered to Galion. The butler glanced back and replied,

"You could say that."

"You are so predictable, Hîr Glorfindel," the king said, pulling the leather cord out of his hair and swishing his locks back in place as he did so. Now Glorfindel rolled his eyes at his opponent's feminine antic.

"There's something wrong with you, seriously." Thranduil flicked his hair and glared at the lord in a deliberately feminine way. Glorfindel returned the stare, reproachfully. "I'm going to the stables to check on the horses," he said and swiftly left them. Thranduil smiled to himself, a smile his son picked up on.

"Man?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that now I know how to annoy him.

"Come, we need to retrieve our weapons. We shall see the rest of you outside!" He called, steering Legolas into the maze of back passages. Galion followed like a shadow – as always.

"Can't those two ever give it a rest?" Erestor muttered, disapprovingly.

The four of them continued through the filling halls; Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir and

"Aragorn? What are you doing with us?" Elladan asked, catching sight of the human out of the corner of his eye.

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, immediately on alert.

"You should be with your people," Elrohir said. Aragorn flared,

"I can't do anything right, can I?" Words failed him for a while, "You're all _hypocrites_!"

"How so?" Erestor asked quietly, trying desperately.

"'How so?' '_How so?_' What do you mean 'how so?' Why, Thranduil can be outwardly vain, can act like a woman even!, and you say nothing! I follow you because I don't know who I belong to but know you better and I get it in the neck!"

"For goodness' sake, Estel, uncle just acts like that to wind people up-"

"Really? Well that wasn't obvious to me. Why would it be obvious to other people?"

"It seems to have worked," Elladan whispered to his twin as Aragorn nigh on jumped up and down in frustration and anger.

"Why isn't anyone giving me any leeway? I'm new to this – _you_ keep saying that – so give me some help!"

"We are trying, I can assure you. But inheriting kingship is never easy," Erestor reasoned. Aragorn shook his head,

"Where is Thranduil now?"

"Well his weapons are in his chamber-"

"_Right! _I've had enough of this!"

"He's doing you a fav-"

But Aragorn was already flying through the halls, scattering Elves left right and centre. He ran up the main stairs three at a time – and the steps weren't exactly shallow – and on, up and up until he reached the corridor where Thranduil and Legolas's rooms were. Pictures hung on the walls of the corridor; beautiful pictures depicting royal members for the most part. There were some of Oropher and Thranduil and sometimes Miriel, some of the couple on their own and some of the king and his son but very few of the young family. And in all of those Legolas was either a babe in arms or a toddler.

Not that Aragorn noticed any of this. Normally he would but his angry, humiliated gaze fell on the Sinda who had just emerged from a door near the end of the corridor and nothing else. He marched towards the Elvenking resolutely, a slow yet deadly fire burning in his eyes which Thranduil immediately picked up on. He froze in the act of closing his chamber door, one hand on the doorknob, the other full of bow, quiver and sword.

The Dúnadan stopped right in Thranduil's face, putting the Elf on edge as well. (Thranduil hated being in close proximity with anyone whom he didn't know like a brother – or sister – and he and Aragorn were distant acquaintances.) For a while, everything stopped. The only sound to be heard was Aragon's furious panting as he seized his opponent up. After a while, Thranduil cleared his throat

"Well?"

"Why must you _always_ be better than me?" the Man spat, "Why must you _always _outshine me?! No matter what I do, with you here I am always inferior. Every mistake I make here is magnified because you never make any!" Thranduil raised an eyebrow.

"There are the odd thousands who would argue with-"

"_Shut up! Shut up and listen to me for once!" _

Legolas, who had slipped out of his chamber at the noise, silently drew his knife and advanced. But at a glance from his father he stopped. Aragorn was oblivious.

"_I _am the leader of the Dúnedain, not you. Give them back to me!"

"I haven't stolen them," Thranduil said quickly.

"Bullshit you haven't! They don't answer to me; they go to you. It's not fair! Back off! It's not fair; they are _my _people, not yours. You don't even like Men." Tears pricked his eyes, "Why won't they listen to me?"

"They will do; you just need to assert your will more."

They say actions speak louder than words, so maybe that's why, when words failed him, Aragorn punched him.

oOo

"Ah good, here's Aragorn," Erestor said as the young leader swept into the courtyard, "where ahve you been?"

Silence.

"Are you ready to go?"

Silence. Aragorn just walked to his steed, massaging his throat.

"I'll take that as a yes. So, now we're just waiting for Thranduil and Legolas. Have you seen them?"

Aragorn glared furiously at him and mounted.

"Let's go now."

"The Elf-king and prince are coming with us and we shall wait for them," Sigilhûn said heavily. Aragorn shook but held his horse back.

oOo

"You shouldn't have done that; you could have choked him," Thranduil said, flatly.

"But he hit you!"

"Even so; is a fist fuelled by anger worth death?" Thranduil asked as he, Legolas and Galion watched as the bruise on the Sinda's cheekbone blossomed. "It's so obvious!" Thranduil moaned, moving his head so he could view it from different angles.

"It's because your skin's so pale," Galion said.

"I know why it is," Thranduil spat, moving away from the looking glass. "Come on, we're holding up the others."

"Still, at least he didn't knock out any teeth," Galion said as the trio exited the room.

"And you didn't cry." Galion was still going when they began to cross the bridge that connected the hill under which the palace was built to the rest of the forest, "I wonder if you hurt Ulmo he would cry. Can you cry when surrounded by water?"

"Why don't you ask him?" a fed up Elvenking retorted, pushing his butler over the edge of the bridge into the water below without slowing. Galion surfaced a short while later, spluttering. Cries of 'get a rope' could be heard from both shores. Happily, Galion was a strong swimmer so he managed to keep in the same place against the strong currents around him.

"You're in a bad mood, aren't you, Sire?"

"Suddenly I'm glad to have an excuse to get away, even if it _is _with Glorfindel."

Glorfindel was now grinning broadly, "You're getting quite a collection, Eldu!" He called merrily, encircling his face with his hands.

"I am really not in the mood!" The Sinda answered, ignoring the venomous glares from Aragorn.

"Right!" Erestor said, feigning a care-free attitude, "we are all here now. Shall we go?"

"Wait a while longer; I'd better make sure Galion _does _get out." Thranduil said, turning back to the river.

"Such a softie," Elladan whispered to his twin.

"When he loves you," Elrohir added.

As a spluttering, sodden but otherwise fine Galion was hauled from the river, Thranduil mounted and the company set off; Aragorn at its head and Thranduil safely somewhere near the back.

"How did you get it?" Erestor asked. Thranduil was silent for a while.

"Walked into a chest of drawers."

"Really?"

"_Really._"

Erestor nodded but knew that Thranduil was lying. He could also easily guess what had really occurred.

"I worry about Estel, you know," he said. He said it as nonchalantly as he could but even so Thranduil caught on.

"Don't, please. Just leave it!"

Erestor left it.

A week or so later – in which time Aragorn grew to loathe and detest the forest and was insanely glad when the company reached its western edge – they reached the camp. Or at least, what had been the camp. Blood stained the grass, cremated ashes made the area a few miles outside the camp grey and the tents were torn to shreds.

At first Aragorn wondered who had done the cremating but that soon became clear. The Dúnedain who had fled to the Elves had left a few guards here to tend to the wounded and try to sort matters out. The women and children had gone straight to Esgaroth and the men only hadn't so they could return to fetch the wounded.

Aragorn looked aghast, the Dúnedain looked painfully sad behind their façades and the Elves looked resigned; they had seen similar sights all too many times before.

"It looks like Dale used to, only with tents instead of houses," Elladan said.

"It looks like the camp at Dargoland after that night time raid," Erestor said, "Do you remember that, Thranduil?"

"My second night as king," Thranduil said, flatly, and Erestor visibly winced.

"I'm sorry, uncle," Elladan said.

"I didn't ask for your sympathy!" Thranduil snapped, "That was millennia ago; look at what is before us now!"

"What do we do?" Sigilhûn asked a terrified Aragorn.

"I don't know."

"Surely we should check on the wounded," Thranduil muttered.

Aragorn glared, "I didn't ask for your help! I'm new to this-"

"But you have seen this before," Thranduil countered, finally losing patience with the young Man, "I had to lead an army mere weeks after I became king. How long have _you _had to settle in now; fifteen months isn't it?" With a furious look, he dismounted and went to check on the wounded. "And I actually watched my father die," he muttered as he went.

The Dúnedain were already on the ground and the Elves were swiftly joining them now.

"What do you need?" Aragorn heard Thranduil ask one of the guards.

"Not much, my lord: canvas and poles for tents, medicine and a little food; that's all."

"We plan to strike camp in a few days anyway."

"You don't need to this time round," Glorfindel said, eyeing the burnt remains of the tents.

Aragorn didn't really hear any of this. He dismounted slowly and wended his way over to Thranduil, "How many loved ones have you seen perish?"

Thranduil was taken aback, "Why?"

"How many?"

"Too many to count," the Sinda replied, cautiously.

"Like?"

"Do you really need to know?" Thranduil asked, agitated. Aragorn nodded. "Well... my friends, my mother, my father... and my wife."

"How can you keep smiling?"

Thranduil looked him straight in the eye, "I still have my son."

"Were you really as bad as me when you started?"

Thranduil shifted his weight, "Yes. Truly I was. In fact I was worse. I didn't really rule for the first year," he admitted.

"Me neither," Aragorn laughed, nervously.

"What's brought this on?" Thranduil whispered.

"All this death," Aragorn encompassed the whole camp with his hand, "maybe one's rule needs to start with destruction before it can really begin."

Thranduil looked round nervously.

"I will be a good leader!" Aragon vowed, pulling himself up to his full height. Thranduil looked up into his resolute eyes, "I will pull the Dúnedain out of this and then I shall set the example of our nomadic lifestyle!"

"How very noble," Thranduil said, calmly, "may I suggest that you order some canvas from Beorn first." Aragorn's eyes flashed as Thranduil walked passed him,

"Don't you _dare _tell me what to do! _I am the leader here!_"

"Shame," Thranduil called over his shoulder as all heads turned to Aragorn, "the only part of the conversation this lot heard was that part."

Aragorn's expression became livid and Thranduil rushed off to hide behind Glorfindel.

_I meth_

* * *

A/N: sorry if you thought the ending was a bit flat; I wanted to get this finished so I don't feel bad about not having time to write. Don't be surprised if I update this chapter later when I have time. ^^

Cuio vae.


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